House of Malfoy
by Evelyn Ransom
Summary: 1997. London. Six Slytherins share a vision and the common desire to the conquer the world...of haute couture. PostHBP. Rife with spoilers. Do not read unless you've finsihed the book.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

1997. London. Six Slytherins share a vision and the common desire to the conquer the world...of haute couture.

'House of Malfoy', the sign proclaimed as Crabbe and Goyle hoisted it awkwardly above the door.  
Draco Malfoy stepped into the street and crossed his arms.  
'Bloody pitiful.'  
Goyle tilted precariously on his stepladder and Crabbe stared at Draco with a face that married the emotional qualities of an apoplectic lungfish to the sophistication and subtlety of an overweight and sweating circus clown.  
The sign crashed down, sending up dust and rattling the windows of the nearby Knockturn Alley shops.  
'Absolutely bloody pitiful.'  
'Sorry, Draco.'  
'Shut it, Crabbe. Pansy, get me a drink. You lot! Do you need instructions in Parseltongue? Stop lolling about and get a broom. I want this cleaned up!'

Knockturn Alley was full of the dregs of Slytherin House past and present these days. Loitering about, drawn as if by a beacon to this dingy shop front--still not even open!  
People said it wouldn't have been so were Dumbledore still alive. But that's just it...he wasn't.

And more often than not, when this staggering fact--the demise of one of the Wizarding World's best-loved prodigies--was recalled in hushed tones, it was linked to another, almost equally shocking observation:  
Draco Malfoy was alive and apparently thriving somewhere in London, earning him the waggish moniker 'The Boy Who Got Off.'  
Dumbledore wasn't a month in the tomb when the heir of Malfoy presented himself, bruised and crying, at a Ministry of Magic field office in Birmingham.  
Yes, he had been involved in the death of Albus Dumbledore.  
Yes, he had allowed Death Eaters onto the grounds of Hogwarts.  
And certainly, he had fled the scene in the company of one Severus Snape, alias Severus Prince, alias the Half-Blood Prince.  
But no! 'Resoundingly no!' claimed his legal representative; he was not responsible for any actions he may have committed at that time having been the victim of an Imperius curse cast by that very same Severus Snape! The boy's innocent, mi'lud!

The Aurors, with all their tests, tricks and pet Legilimens, could not get Draco to alter his story--so strong was the truth...or anti-detection potion he was taking...or the lessons in Occlumency given him by the Dark Lord himself. Guilty or innocent, it all depended on who you asked.  
Of course there was an uproar but these things are never as cut and dry as the newspapers would have us believe.  
Whatever influence the Malfoy family still had, coupled with bribes, threats and the political expediency of embracing a photogenic teenage boy and his sensational tale of life as a Death Eating slave, saw the Ministry cave. A regular cause celebre was our Draco.  
When the protests died down and the newshounds moved on, one thing was indisputable. Draco Malfoy was officially released, rehabilitated and re-fucking-deemed.

And the notoriety, scandal and sour looks? These things had the punters lining up for a soundbite and quick quote the moment Draco announced he'd be trying his murderous hand in the unlikely field of high fashion--headquarters, Knockturn Alley, putting him palely and squarely at the front of a movement that would come to be known as the 'Knockturn Revival'.

'Draco,' Pansy whispered, 'Nott's back.' She grimaced and handed him a glass of chilled carbonated water.  
'Where?'  
'In the office.'  
Draco sighed and wound his way through the construction site that was to be his shop, heading to a back staircase and up to the small room that had been optimistically christened 'the office.'  
Nott sat on the window ledge staring down into the street below. He didn't rise when Draco entered, merely glancing in his direction.  
'Draco,' he observed.  
'Theodore. How was your trip?'  
Nott took an orange handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose.  
'Our investors, Draco...our investors are very keen to see a result here, you know. What they have given you and all of us, is an unparalleled opportunity. A chance that we must not squander.  
'We must succeed. Failure is not an option. This was impressed upon me...most forcefully.'  
Nott turned fully towards Draco, who was disturbed to see that one of his business partner's eyes was red with blood.  
Nott gave a small smile and carefully put on a pair of oversized white sunglasses.

'Well, Theodore, our investors will be pleased to know that interest in the House of Malfoy is very high!' Draco noticed with regret that his own voice had become correspondingly high. He took a second to calm himself.  
'Pansy can barely get a minute's peace what with all the owls. "When is the opening?" "Where is the new line?" Everyone who's anyone is trying to get an invite to the unveiling. It's really quite funny, actually...'  
Nott refrained from laughing.  
Draco began again in a more measured tone.  
'I'm sure the Dar--our investors will be more than satisfied with the House of Malfoy. Have you looked in the street, Nott? Seen the fools stretching their necks just to get a glimpse of what we're planning? Brand visibility! We are a household name and we haven't even opened.' Draco leaned close and whispered, 'He wanted a youth movement and I will give him one.'

Nott stood and gathered his briefcase.  
'I hope you're right, Draco. For both our sakes.'  
As soon as the footfalls on the stair had died away Draco collapsed into his chair and put his face in his hands.  
Outside, a crash heralded an encore performance of the dropping of the House of Malfoy sign.

'We are fucked.'

But this was only the beginning of the littlest Malfoy's troubles as we will see in the next chapter. Oh, and you'll get to meet me, as well. My name? I'm Blaise Zabini. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

'Good heavens, Blaise! What have you done to your hair?' Pansy gawked as she ran her fingers through the pale blond/orange growth that sat atop my head.  
'I got bored,' I lied. I wasn't going to tell anyone here that I had inexpertly mixed a 'potion of wondrous eyebrow shaping.'  
'Thought I'd shake things up.'

'Oh, well, I think it looks very daring,' enthused Pansy. 'Like that Quidditch player on the Magpies.'  
Draco looked up from his sketchpad momentarily and snorted.  
'Quiet hands, please, Pansy. Blaise doesn't like to be touched.'

I noticed Crabbe whisper something to Goyle that set them both laughing.  
'Got something to say, Crabbe?'  
Crabbe looked blank and shook his head. I walked casually towards him, wand in my hand.  
'Come now, share with the class, Crabbe.'  
Crabbe and Goyle blanched.  
'Leave them, Goldilocks.'

I ignored Draco. 'Share your little joke with Uncle Blaise.' The tip of my wand tapped gently on the side of his nose, causing the oaf to go a little cross-eyed.  
Malfoy's attention was now fixed on the pair of us. His sketchbook lay on the table. He nodded at Crabbe, who gulped and said, 'Just thought you looked...like a chocolate cake with caramel topping. Just hungry, suppose. Nothing by it, Blaise.'

'Done yet, Zabini? Now you know you'll be in Crabbe's gustatory fantasies for the next month. I hope you're happy.'  
I put my wand away.  
'Shut up, Draco. Show me your designs.'

We spent the better part of an hour going through Draco's sketchbook, doodlings, designs, and scrapwork, Draco getting increasingly excited the more he spoke.  
'It's all going to be very glamourous, Blaise. Very sophisticated. Clean lines. No frumpy robes. No stupid hats. We're going to start wizard's fashion on its head! Right here! At the House of Malfoy. It's going to be a revolution in style.'  
I looked around. Pansy was changing the colour of her nails with a wand tap. Crabbe and Goyle were silkscreening shirts that read 'Potter Stinks' or 'Snape Kills Dumbledore.'  
'How did I get myself into this again?'

'You're like me, Blaise. We have nowhere else to go.'  
With a shock I realised he was right. My mother had just recently re-married and her new husband wanted little or nothing to do with me. Home was no longer an option. And since the death of Dumbledore, neither was Hogwarts. I was low on money. Would have been homeless if I weren't so adept at searching out individuals who enjoyed my company. I was at a dead end, really.

'You, Blaise, will be our point of contact with the world. You will be the one who puts "House of Malfoy" in the ears of those who matter. You are going to turn my notoriety into a marketable commodity.'  
I sat back and looked at Draco.  
'When the Aurors fiddled with your brain, did they put it all back? Come on, Draco! PR man for the world's most hated boy's fashion line? Stay away from those dye vats, mate. I think the fumes are affecting you.'  
Draco looked into my eyes. He seemd very tired.  
'Blaise, you know who I work for.'

So there it was. The truth was finally on the table. Can't say I was surprised, but there's a difference between imagining what falling off a cliff is like and actually having someone push you.  
Everyone was watching us.  
'And when did _he_ become interested in fashion?' I whispered.  
'He wants followers, especially younger followers. The young are always more accepting of radical ideas--changing the status quo. The House of Malfoy is just one of many schemes to widen the base of the movement. We're in the war too, just we're fighting on the cultural front.'

I had wondered just what sort of game the Dark Lord was playing when Draco had resurfaced with his far-fetched story of Imperius curses. I was surprised he hadn't liberally sprinkled pieces of the ferret-faced bastard over Cheshire. From all accounts, Draco had failed. An eyewitness, Harry Potter in fact, had said that Draco had not been able to kill Dumbledore. Snape had to do it for him.  
But now I saw it. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was strapped for followers and Draco might not be able to work as an assassin but there were other uses for the boy. The Dark Lord was not one to waste an asset.  
But Blaise Zabini is nobody's asset.

'Is this supposed to be when you roll up your sleeve and show me the Dark Mark? Should I be cowering, Draco?'  
'Most of the older ones, they said I should threaten you, but I knew it wouldn't work. It would push you in the other direction. I told them, if there is a way to get through to Blaise it is to appeal to him intellectually and...artistically. He'll do it because he wants to do it.'

Later that week when I met with Horace Slughorn it was because I wanted. The absurdity of Draco's proposal did have a certain crazed allure. Did I have the skill to organise something like this? Turn the Dark Lord into a product to be sold to the masses?  
Well, I had to find out for myself.

'Blaise, it's been so long, my boy! What have you been up to, eh? How's your mother?'  
Sluhorn was as globular and effusive as ever. His rooms were slightly shabbier than I remembered. I hoped that would make my job all the easier.  
'I've been doing a little of this, a little of that, Professor.'  
'Now, Blaise, you don't need to "Professor" at me. Technically you are no longer my student. Such a pity that. I wash you would reconsider. You could have such a great future, you know.'  
I made sure the door was locked.  
'Actually, that's what I wanted to speak with you about. But first, for old time's sake...' I took a small bag of white crystalline powder out of my pocket and lay it on the table beside a framed photograph of two now-scandalised witches.  
Slughorn's eyes widened. He drew himself slowly towards the bag and carefully undid the wrap. With only the slightest hesitation he dabbed a finger in the powder and tasted...  
'Oh, Blaise! You always were one of my favourite students.'  



	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

_Djjing_, said the bell.  
Draco looked up sharply at the door. 'Do you think it's him?'  
Before I could answer, Pansy walked into the backroom followed by Nott.  
'It's only Theodore.'  
'Some welcome,' grumped Nott and he sat down at the long drawing/conference/lunch table. 'When's he supposed to get here?'  
'He didn't say.'  
'Honestly,' Pansy pouted, 'I don't see what all the fuss is about.'

But she did. We all did. The fuss was about a man named Thimbleberry, the man who could make or break the House of Malfoy fashion line. He was a style and glamour specialist who contributed articles on the esoterica of trendsetting to all the more snobbish publications.  
Horace Slughorn had put me in contact with him and I had exhausted all my most charming maneuvers just to get Thimbleberry to deign to meet Draco for even half an hour.  
By this time we all had a great deal invested in the bizarre scheme to make House of Malfoy a focal point in the war of wizard fashion, though none so much as Draco himself. The youngest Malfoy was staking his very life on the success of this clothing line.

_Djjing!_  
Pansy opened her mouth again but thought better of it. Instead she left to see who had come into the shop.  
'Bet it's him.' Nott re-arranged his fuschia cravat and rubbed at imagined dirt on the tip of his glossy white shoes.  
'Nice shoes.'

Pansy screamed suddenly and the door burst open. If the figure who rushed in was Thimbleberry, I decided, fashion was in a very poor way indeed.  
He was dressed in a smelly robe and had a tangled beard that resembled nothing so much as a hag's second-best wig.  
He looked at us each in turn with a mad and baleful eye before shouting, 'Oh ye faithful servants of the Dark Lord, aid me now! Succour! Sanctuary! Safe passage!' He grabbed Theodore with his filthy hands. 'By the Dark covenant, hide me!'  
'Jaysus!' cried Nott, so shocked as to let his natural accent sneak through.  
'Oi, no public restrooms here!' yelled Draco, pulling his wand.

The lunatic looked at Draco and snarled. Pulling back his sleeve, he revealed the Dark Mark.  
Draco blanched. 'What do you want?'  
'I am on a mission for the Dark Lord, but I have been betrayed. The Aurors are closing in on me. I need a place to hide.'  
'Well, you can't do it here, you git!' I complained. 'Nigel Thimbleberry is coming tonight!'  
The Death Eater ignored me. Speaking directly to Draco, he said, 'You live by the Dark Lord's generosity. You will hide me, boy.'  
Nott peered through the door to the shop front. 'The mad bastard's stunned Pansy!'  
Draco seemed frozen for a moment.  
'I...quick, get upstairs. Blaise, check on Pansy. Nott, send an owl to Crabbe and Goyle's flat. Tell them to drop everything and get over here.'

I revived Pansy and helped her into a chair. From upstairs we heard muffled shouts, threats and what I assumed to be the breaking of furniture.  
Letting go the messenger owl, Nott fumed, 'You'd think that nutter would have shown a little respect. We're on his side, after all.'  
'Speak for yourself, Theodore. We're not all on i>his /i> side.'  
'Right,' scoffed Nott. 'You're here for the great pay, Blaise.'  
'Does your dad do visiting hours at Azkaban, Theodore?'

Pansy stepped between us.  
'No, Theodore's right. We've picked our side whether we like it or not. There's no going back at this point. Just look at him.' She jutted her chin towards the ongoing scuffle upstairs. I couldn't decide if she was referring to the Death Eater or Draco.  
Nott glared but said nothing. For the next quarter hour we helped Pansy set to rights Draco's sketches and designs which had been scattered on the floor.

_Djjing!_  
'I'll get it.' Pansy ran off again, perhaps a little more cautiously this time. She came back looking perplexed.  
'Who is it?'  
'I think it's Blaise's dad.'  
Nott smiled. 'Which one?'  
I drew my wand.  
'Are you saying something about my mother, Nott?'  
'I'd do Blaise's mum,' announced Draco, who had just come down the stairs. He went straight to look out onto the sales floor.

I was about to hex him when he turned whiter than usual and quickly closed the door.  
'Christ! It's a bloody Auror!'  
'I thought it was Mister Zabini,' explained Pansy.  
'You thick cow! That's Kingsley Shacklebolt!'

'Shacklebolt!' came an unbalanced voice from the stairwell. 'The Dark Lord will reward me beyong imagining for slaying Kinglsey Shacklebolt.' The ratty beard peeked over the bannister.  
'Get back upstairs, you mad bastard!' shouted Draco as he fired off a curse.  
'Traitor!' declared the now smoking beard.

'What do I do?' asked Draco with wild eyes.  
'Go find out what he wants.'

Kingsley Shacklebolt studied a roll of elf-made thistlecoat with an intensity that only added to the bad-assed aura already suggested by his fine black coat.  
'Hello, welcome to the House of Malfoy. We're not officially open yet--'  
Shacklebolt looked down into Draco's face.  
'You must be Malfoy.'  
'Yes. I am.'  
'You know who I am.' It wasn't a question.  
'Yes.'  
Shacklebolt tossed the cloth carelessly over his shoulder. 'Not open yet? Not behind on You-Know-Who's plan, I hope.'  
'I don't think I know what you mean.'  
Shacklebolt nodded. ''Course not. Nice place you have here, incidentally. I was just passing thorugh the area and thought I might stop in. You don't mind, I'm sure, if I have a look around.'  
Draco grimaced. 'As I said, we're not actually open.'  
Kingsley Shacklebolt smiled coldly. 'That's all right, I'm not actually shopping.'

Nott, Pansy and I had our ears pressed to the crack in the door, straining to make out every word. We didn't notice that we had company until the smell of rank Death Eater filled our nostrils.

'You see, Malfoy, the Ministry has received a report of a Death Eater roaming the neighborhood a few hours ago. He seems to have exposed himself to a group of hags and one old witch walking her Puffskein. You wouldn't happen to have seen anything?'  
'Seen a flashing Death Eater? Of course not! I...' Just then Draco caught sight of a gnarled hand aiming a wand from the backroom. 'Look, there he is!'  
Draco grabbed Shacklebolt's arm and pointed out one of the grimy windows.  
'There, behind the dust bin!'  
A jinx shot across the room only to be deflected by a nonverbal shield spell from Draco. The greenish ricochet destroyed a tea pot.

Immediately Shacklebolt spun around, wand out.  
'What was that?'  
Draco tried to look confused, 'What? Oh, that? Erm, mice.'  
'Mice?'  
'Well, rats really. Knockturn Alley and all.'  
'I think I'll have to search this shop.'

By this time Nott and I had stunned the mangy Death Eater after only suffering a poked eye and two bites.  
'Bet he's got a disease.'  
'Quick, we've got to get him upstairs.'  
_Levicorpus!_  
The unconscious prat floated slowly upwards, anchoring accidentally on the chandelier.

Shacklebolt threw open the door and scanned the room. Nott was arranging his cravat. Pansy was organising Draco's colour-changing ink quills by size. And I was cutting paper dolls.  
He said nothing, staring at us all in turn. Then he ran up the back stairs, taking them two at a time.  
'Where is he?' whispered Draco.  
I pointed to the ceiling with my scissors.  
Draco gasped. The Death Eater's robe was beginning to smoulder from contact with a candle.

Shacklebolt walked slowly back down the steps. 'Any other entrances to this shop?'  
'No. And I think you've wasted enough of my time already, really. We are expecting an important visit. Any minute now.'  
As if on cue, an explosive double crack announced the Apparation of Crabbe and Goyle into the back room. They stood dumbfounded atop the drawing table holding wands and wearing nothing but short bath towels around their waists.  
'My God.'

Shacklebolt looked at the two stunned oafs with disgust before turning on Draco.  
'You make me sick, Malfoy, you and your kind. Playing your perverted games whilst honest people fear for their lives.'  
Shacklebolt stormed towards the door. 'I wouldn't walk home alone if I were you, Malfoy. These are dangerous times.' He stopped and turned for a moment. His eyes were filled with barely controlled rage.  
'We wouldn't want anything to happen to the man who helped kill Albus Dumbledore.'  
The Auror slammed the shop door behind him and with an explosive _Djjing_ the little bell gave up the ghost at this final insult and dropped heavily to the floor.

Draco looked as if he were about to be ill. We all sat speechless.  
'You two,' he snapped at Crabbe and Goyle pointing at their modest towels, 'what the hell do you think this is? Ancient Rome?'  
'Well, we...'  
'That's very odd.' Draco stared closely at Crabbe. 'You're wearing the wrong towels.'

Crabbe and Goyle looked down with dismay. Sure enough, Crabbe wore a towel with the letters _GG_ embroidered near the hem. Goyle's was marked with an equally disheartening _VC_.  
They looked at each other with fear in their eyes.  
'Must be an Apparating...er...accident.'  
Goyle nodded.

A swath of flaming robe dropped to the table.  
'Almost forgot about him.'  
'Will someone get that burning freak off my ceiling?' requested Draco in a remarkably civil tone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

'Bastards!' Draco's eyes twitched as he scanned the letter. 'Those thieving bastards!'  
Pansy tried unsuccessfully to read over his shoulder.  
'What is it, Draco?' I knew that she had been filtering out the piles of death threats that the owls brought in each morning--I could see that she was afraid she had missed one.  
'The Ministry has confiscated my shipment of Hungarian dragon hides! Do you know how many officials I bribed to get those into the country? How dare they! I'll write a complaint! I want a refund!'  
I had been trying to doze, exhausted after a day full of promoting, palm-pressing, drinking and cajolery.  
'Draco, do you mind? Some of us are hung over.'  
'Trousers, Blaise!' spat Draco as he stormed around the table. 'Black trousers are to be made from dragon hides. What's a man without trousers?'  
'Naked?' suggested Nott.  
'Chilly,' murmured Crabbe, remembering his towel incident. Goyle, who sat beside him, chuckled and continued bedazzling the Dark Mark onto a denim skirt.

'Draco, couldn't you just use leather?'  
'Bite your tongue, Pansy! No Malfoy has ever stooped so low as to wear leather.'  
'And they've stooped _pretty_ low in the past,' I added for my own benefit.

Draco grabbed the post from the table and stomped upstairs. 'I won't be taking any calls this evening!'  
Pansy apologised for him. 'He's been under so much stress since...you know...'

Since the interview with Nigel Thimbleberry, she meant. It had not gone well, and here we were with half a week before the unveiling of the new line.  
Thimbleberry had been very professional and I wouldn't say unkind, which seemed odd in a man whose persona is often times synonymous with cattiness. He really seemed to feel for Draco, which made what he said all the more damaging.  
After casting an observant eye over some of Draco's more finished designs, and one or two pieces as modeled by enchanted Mannikins, Thimbleberry was finally willing to pass judgment.  
'Draco,' he said, 'thank you for showing me all of this. You _do_ have potential as a designer, but these...concepts do not do your talent justice. What fashion needs is something new! Something bold. What you are doing is, well, it's very Yule Ball, very naive. You're cleaning up others' mistakes, yes, and improving, but I see nothing original here. Nothing to really grab me.  
'You are a bright lad, Draco. Embrace your opportunity, make these designs your own! I want to see something uniquely Malfoy, not something I've seen a dozen times before.'

Draco was devastated. As soon as Thimbleberry had been thanked and ushered out the door, Malfoy grabbed all of the designs, all the samples, and threw them into the fire. We all watched as the House of Malfoy line went up in smoke.

Since then Draco had drawn and redrawn, stitched, cut and discarded. It seemed nothing he created satisfied him, and with each passing day we all stared, ever more gloomy, at the calendar. Now with only days to go, Draco had taken to sitting by himself on the House of Malfoy rooftop gazing out moodily over Knockturn Alley.

I gave him a few hours to regroup before climbing the stairs and rickety ladder that brought me to the top of the old building.  
'Draco.'  
He started when I spoke his name. He had been writing something whilst sitting on the ledge overhanging the street. He pinned the sheet of parchment under his inkwell and tucked his quill behind his ear, inking it in the process.  
'What do you want, Blaise?'  
'You can't hide up here forever. We don't have much time left and we aren't nearly done yet.'  
Draco's face contorted in rage.  
'Do you think I don't know that! That I don't know what's going to happen to me if I don't succeed here! I am aware of the timetable, Blaise. Thank you.'  
'Well, what do you think you're going to accomplish mooning about up here? Why not just put Goyle in charge?'

From the street below we heard shouts and the shattering of glass. We could just make out two dark figures running down towards Diagon Alley. Nott was screaming for help downstairs.  
Being closer to the ladder I was the first one down. I froze at the sight that met me, Draco slamming into my back and sending me tumbling across the floor.  
'What the hell!'  
The shop windows had been blown in. Pansy and Nott cowered under a table as a great ball of fire tore around the room setting cloth and paper alight. Goyle lay near the door unconscious and Crabbe was frantically throwing cups of cold tea at the airborne conflagration.  
Draco brought out his wand and tried to take aim but just then the fireball careened down onto the floor, burning a phoenix shaped mark in the wood.  
Outside in the night, someone yelled, 'You have been warned!', his voice echoing down the empty street.

'Is everyone all right?'  
Pansy said nothing and merely cried. Nott tried to help her up. Crabbe, still holding an empty teacup, checked on Goyle.  
Draco strode out into the street.  
'You're not fucking frightening anyone here! Got that? We're not afraid of you, cowards!'  
He had his wand out. I could see it was shaking.

A strong breeze blew, ruffling his pale hair and making away with the letter he had abandoned on the roof. The wind carried it for a time before depositing it with the rest of the rubbish that was strewn across Knockturn Alley.

_Dear Myrtle,_

_I'm sorry things are going so horribly for you just now, but I'm sure they will get better.  
I did visit your grave. You were right, it was very well kept and their were many flowers. I left a few. I hope you like lilies.  
I do really wish I could visit you at Hogwarts but I think after everything that happened I would not be allowed back. But maybe I will be able to see you again sooner than you might think.  
Your last letter was very comforting and I often reread it, even though we are all so busy preparing for the fashion show.  
Oh, and I met Nigel Thimbleberry! He was very excited about my designs and thinks I have a great future here. He's sure we'll be a success!  
I miss our conversations and never find myself in a lavatory without thinking of you._

_Your friend,_

_Draco_


End file.
